


Professional Distance

by AHumanFemale



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-09-22 00:49:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9574562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AHumanFemale/pseuds/AHumanFemale
Summary: Dean Winchester is an editor known for his critical eye and keen insight, finding himself a famed name in the world of romance novels.  No matter the material that crosses his desk Dean has always been able to maintain his professional distance.  Until Donna Hanscum.  As if his crush on the effervescent blonde weren't incapacitating enough, now she's introduced a love interest to her latest novel that seems suspiciously like... him.So AU it might as well be an alternate galaxy... just got a bug and had to get this down on paper before I got distracted.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> There's nothing about this that is in character. Not a thing, except for some vague passing resemblance to the characters we all know and love. Normally I don't believe in messing with a good thing, I just had to explore this little "what if...?" before it killed me.

**Professional Distance**

 

I

 

Dean Winchester had been an editor for going on twelve years, since graduating college with his degree in literature. A quick study with a critical eye, he’d come with a slew of recommendations from professors and the assurance he’d have a bestseller in his first year. He’d gone into the field hoping to land a position in fantasy or science fiction - dragons and space battles. You want to know where he’d ended up instead?

Romance.

Sweet inspirational love stories and depraved erotica all came across his desk, demanding his careful eye and effortless marketing. It turned out that selling romances was a lot easier when the man selling it was quick with a smile and easy on the eyes. So they told him, anyway. In just over a decade he’d climbed from untested newbie to a big name - someone in demand, who got to be picky about what he took on. There were a few people who had balked at a man editing chick lit but he brushed them off. Oddly enough, he enjoyed it. Romance wasn’t something he’d normally read and that gave him the ability to distance himself enough from the work to be critical of it. To find errors and plot holes that needed to be addressed. The racier stuff didn’t bother him - he was able to maintain his professional distance. It didn’t hurt that all the authors to take the chair across from his desk tended to look and sound like his mother.

Until Donna Hanscum.

That wasn’t the name on her book covers - no, for that she’d chosen something so obviously fake it made him cringe - but it was the one he’d written in his calendar for that afternoon at three o’clock. Donna reminded him exactly nothing of his mother. Where Mary Winchester was sharp lines and wry grins, Donna was all curves and boisterous laughter. She had an accent that constantly made his mouth twitch up in a smile that stayed with him for the rest of the day. She also wrote things that made him loosen his tie and clear his throat when he edited late at night, in bed with his laptop and a beer.

Donna wrote paranormal romance. More specifically, she wrote about a voluptuous blonde whose job was to hunt down and kill the paranormal. Usually with a male partner who was different in every installment, all of whom found themselves enamored with her by the end of the book. After a long hunt and a bloody kill she took her fill of the guy, typically on the hood of her muscle car before driving off into the sunset with a wink and a smile. Unless, of course, they died.

Her work fit the market trend toward this kind of thing perfectly and she wrote it well, keeping her heroine just this side of relatable and worthy of cheering on. Readers ate it up and she was writing full time now, having quit her job as a small town sheriff back in Minnesota.

Which was why they had this meeting set up, discussing the sixth installment of her series. Her first ten chapters were due today and she’d insisted on bringing them in on paper, as she was running behind and hadn’t had a chance to transcribe them to a word document. Fine with him. He thought better when he could scribble notes and refer back to them later.

He checked his clock.

3:12.

“I’m here!” she crowed as though reading his mind, throwing open the door to his office so that the potted plant next to it shook and threatened to topple over. “Sorry! So sorry, Dean, I’m here.”

“I can see that,” he smirked, waiting for her to orient herself as she shut the door and smoothed her wavy hair away from her face. “Make it into the city okay?”

“Oh, yeah, always,” she said, facing him with a bright smile as she sashayed her way to him. He did his best to avoid following the sway of her hips as she walked. “How are you doing, handsome? Working hard?”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, always.” She threw herself down into the chair opposite his desk and exhaled loudly. She was dressed in leggings the color of cotton candy with lipstick to match, covered in a bright white poncho with what looked like owls patterned across it. Why in God’s name did this drive him crazy? It wasn’t exactly leather and lace. Still, the thought of peeling it off gave him just as much of a thrill.

He needed to put a lid on it.

“So, uh… you got something for me?”

“Anytime you want it, sugar,” she said with a lascivious wink that she followed up with a full laugh. Just in case his blood pressure wasn’t high enough. “Just kidding. Yeah, I’ve got it here. Hold on.”

She handed him a leaf of wide-ruled notebook paper, bent and tattered and covered with the flamboyant whirls and loops of her now-familiar handwriting. There were more than a few coffee stains and doodles on the margins, the most common theme being what looked like a unicorn chasing a robber. It was held together with a thick clamp at the top, making it almost impossible to flip through the pages.

“That’s… um. That’s original,” he said lamely, looking over it.

“I know! I’m so sorry. If you don’t mind waiting a few days I’ll transcribe it but I know they’re holding us to a pretty strict deadline so I didn’t want them to come for your head.”

“I appreciate that,” he said, nodding before gently placing her manuscript to the side. “So, who is Chloe Ransom killing these days? Shapeshifters or ghosts?”

“Tracking a wendigo through the deep dark woods, actually,” she said, beaming. “With a sweet hunk of forest ranger to keep her company, of course.”

“Of course,” he said with a smile. “Well, I have some cover art to go over with you and there have been a few changes in your contract for the next three books…”

 

**\-- X --**

 

It was after seven before Dean made it back to his townhouse, yawning and swinging a big bag of takeout along with his briefcase. Donna’s manuscript - such as it was - was like a lead weight on his arm, begging to be hauled up and read to death. He’d told himself that if he got through the other chapters vying for his attention he could read all of Donna’s tonight over dinner. He’d chosen a greasy burger and fries - Chloe Random’s main staple as she flitted from bar to bar, looking for cases and any excuse to pull out the armory in her trunk.

Dean tossed his jacket and tie as he situated himself on one end of his couch, turning to stretch his legs over the cushions. He’d placed a cold beer on the coffee table next to him and kicked his shoes off. Burger in one hand and Donna’s manuscript in the other, he dug in. The handwriting baffled him occasionally but he was able to decipher it if he tilted it far enough to the side.

The first few chapters were easy to fly through. Chloe was back in the saddle after a nest of vampires tried to turn her into lunch in the last book - they’d succeeded with her partner. Poor Sam. But now she was coming out of mourning and out of her recovery, looking to kick some ass. He scribbled a few notes on the sides but Dean didn’t slow down until close to chapter nine, when something like suspicion prickled over his skin.

> _Chloe stepped into the office, grateful for the air conditioning after the sauna that was the inside her car. Appalachia in the dead heat of summer wasn’t a picnic. She could only hope her deodorant was up to the job, because the man behind the desk ahead of her was more likely to have her sweating than the blazing sun outside._
> 
> _Dark blond hair cut short and tousled to look like he’d just run his fingers through it, a sharp jaw, and lethally green eyes. A few shallow crow’s feet that turned his face from pretty to something closer to devastating. It was the eyes that held her attention the longest, at least until he smiled. Then her eyes snapped to the ever so slightly elongated canines nestled into his otherwise straight white teeth. A hint of the primal, hidden among the mundane. She couldn’t help her mind wandering to which part of her anatomy he’d sink those teeth into first._

Dean paused, looking up and away from the words on the page.

He fought the urge to run for a mirror, checking his own reflection against the description in the story. Unconsciously his tongue drew up to rub against his top teeth, the ever so slight edge on his canines now roaring to the forefront of his attention. Were they longer? Certainly not longer than average. No one had ever called them out to him, anyway, but there it was... a bare millimeter jutting out from the line of the rest of his teeth.  

His attention went back to the story.

> _“You must be Detective Ransom,” the supermodel-turned-park ranger said, standing from his chair to offer his hand. Cripes, he was even tall. Just tall enough to make her look up at him through her lashes like the hussy she was._
> 
> _“That’s me,” she affirmed, taking his hand in her own. Calluses, she noticed. The man did real work. “Sorry, they didn’t give me your name when I left the precinct. I was out the door like a flash.”_
> 
> _“Daniel,” he told her, “Daniel Wesson. But just Dan is fine.”_

Son of a bitch.

Dean put the manuscript down to run his hand over his face. Was he crazy? Was he imagining all this? He wasn’t any more or less self-absorbed than the next guy, but come on. There’s seeing yourself in everything and then there’s seeing yourself when someone has obviously written about you.

He finished the remainder of the portion in record time, not even bothering to pick up his pen to make notes. Dan and Chloe sat and talked about the case - a slew of missing hikers, remains never found. Chloe didn’t mention her added knowledge of a pattern just like this one going back forty years, and then another set of disappearances forty years before that. Dan was forthcoming and Chloe was invested, eager to put down the monster and get back to her hometown in Minnesota with enough time for her sister’s wedding. Chapter ten finished with Chloe packing her gear and heading to the mouth of the forest, a flask on her hip and Dan at her side.

His burger had grown cold and his beer had fallen flat at some point but it didn’t matter. The pages in his hand had captivated him to such an extent that he doubted he’d notice if someone kicked in his front door. Before he knew what he was doing he had grabbed his cell phone off the coffee table and flipped to Donna’s number. It was there… inviting him to press on it. A text, even. She was probably still in the city.

Dean closed the application and set the phone back down.

He was getting a little worked up. Overreacting because of his… preoccupation with her. Authors were known to take people and places from their real lives and put them into their fictional ones. That wasn’t so unusual, although he’d never seen a suspiciously similar version of himself in anyone else’s work. The only way to solve this, of course, was more data.

He needed more chapters.


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets a little more than he bargained for with Donna's newest chapters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut. You've been warned.

**Professional Distance**

  


II

  


The next chapters came and went, offering him nothing new.  

The writing was good.  It was Donna, so it was always going to be.  The story was progressing at a good pace, drawing the reader in and imploring them to worry for Chloe and Dan as they stomped around in the dark forest.  He laughed when Chloe had put her foot down on starting her own fire and not needing Dan _thank you very much,_ imagining Donna’s face of pure consternation as she screamed at a pile of branches that refused to light.  Dan was happy to sit back and watch because the show was too good to miss.  

They shared their first kiss against a massive aspen tree, surrounded by darkness.  The stiff bark dug into Chloe’s back as she canted her hips up into Dan, his big hands mapping the contours of her waist.  The moment progressed no further, interrupted by the wendigo taking a swipe at them faster than either of them could anticipate.  After that it devolved into Dan demanding explanations and Chloe begrudgingly giving them.  

Dean read that scene roughly a thousand times, imagining his own hands on Donna as she gasped and tightened her grip on the short hairs at the back of his neck.  Not even a wendigo could have distracted him from her, he thought as he glanced over the chapter at his desk.  Not a tornado or a nuclear blast could have pulled him away.  Dan, this fictional version of himself, was clearly a lesser man than the real thing.

He imagined their real first kiss on the way home from work, gripping the buttery leather of his steering wheel as he drove.  

Donna would wear that same candy pink lipstick that seemed to be her favorite, he mused at a red light.  She would come rushing into his office like a rogue wind, breathless and smiling brighter than the sun.  Dropping her purse into her usual spot in front of his desk, she wouldn’t notice him standing from his chair to walk to her.  She’d look up in surprise, her dark eyes widening to find him so close.  Those eyes would drift to his mouth involuntarily, her tongue coming out to lick that pink bottom lip so that it glistened in the sunlight from his windows.  He’d move forward and take her lips like he owned them, surprising them both with the intensity of feeling as he knotted his fingers in her hair and tasted the sweetness of bubblegum on her tongue.

An angry honk sounded from behind him, knocking him out of his reverie and back to the present.  He held a hand up in apology and sped forward, trying not to get pissed off at the minivan behind him as it veered to his left and sped past.  The passenger may have even flipped him the bird.  Distracted, mood headed south, he almost missed the chime from his phone in the seat next to him that signaled a new email.  A few seconds later his text alert went off, drawing his attention.

Donna.

He flicked his screen open so fast he nearly sent his phone flying into the floorboard.  Ignoring the email alert, he opened her text and scanned it.

 

_Two new chapters, handsome!  Let me know what you think.  :)_

 

Dean sent off a noncommittal thank-you message, going for nonchalant to downplay his impatience.  He clicked on his email icon and sought out her message, finding at the top with the flag to mark an attachment.  Her message was brief, saying hello and letting him know there were documents attached.  The first was labeled with the number of the chapter, which was par for the course.  The second was labeled with the chapter number and four letters that made his breath draw short.

NSFW.

Donna used the designation to alert him to explicit material.  She found it funny as hell, considering that explicit material was literally his job.  No one was going to be walking up behind him at work and judging him for what he was reading.  Usually he’d grin a little and download it, adding to the queue requiring his attention.  Now, only able to imagine what could be in it, he swallowed hard and gently put the phone back down.

His foot hit the gas.

He needed to get home - _now_.  

 

**\-- X --**

 

Dean ignored his neighbor’s attempt at small talk, shoved his key into the lock, and threw the door open with a crash.  Someone watching might have been suspecting a mental illness at this point.  He locked the door behind him and flicked on the lights, all too happy to toss his bag in the general direction of his couch and snatch his laptop up from the coffee table.  He didn’t bother to grab himself a beer.  Once in his bedroom he shucked his tie and jacket, his watch, and kicked off his shoes.  

When he settled against his pillows he was in for the long haul.  

The first chapter she’d sent gave him the details of the wendigo attack, complete with a bloody injury for Dan.  Not one on any major organ, of course, but just enough to wing him and make him look like the rugged adventurer he’d turned out to be.  Wendigos didn’t faze Dan, apparently.  Nothing paranormal did.  His mother was psychic, as it turned out, so he’d made peace with a lot of things at this point in his life.  

The second chapter, however.

The second chapter awoke Chloe in the middle of the night, sensitive ears tuned in to the sounds outside their tent.  She’d brought her own but felt it necessary to sleep in Dan’s tent that night.  You know, with his injury and all.  It was pitch black outside and silent save for the wind.  Her lamp was spotty and fading, doing little other than illuminating their tent and maybe five feet in front of her.   Once she’d assured herself that they were safe, she returned to the tent to find Dan’s eyes studying her in the dim light.

 

 

> _“You okay?” he asked, his voice rough from sleep._
> 
> _“Yeah.  Of course, obviously,” she said, shaking her head to ward off the last of the creepy-crawlies skittering over her skin._
> 
> _“Funny.  You don’t look it,” he commented, trying to prop himself up on his injured arm before wincing and sinking down again.  She sat on her sleeping bag, crossing her legs under her._
> 
> _“You’re one to talk, buddy.”_
> 
> _“I’m speaking from experience on this one,” he groused and for a moment she could see his Marine background in his set jaw and the harsh line of his shoulders.  “Something out there I need to worry about?”_
> 
> _“In general?  Yeah.  Immediately?  Doesn’t look like it.”_
> 
> _“Then come back to bed,” he said and neither of them missed the flash of_ something else _that had been plaguing them since they met a few days ago._
> 
> _“I bet you say that to all the girls who come here looking to fight monsters,” she quipped but her mouth had gone dry._
> 
> _“Only one of those recently,” he admitted, “But I’d be willing to say it to that one every goddamn day.”_
> 
> _Her breath left her lungs in a whoosh.  She tried to ignore the flare of heat between her thighs and the jump of her heart but it was impossible.  Ignoring Dan Wesson had become impossible, even for someone who was reigning queen over Repressing Shit, Incorporated._

 

Dean paused.  Had ignoring him become impossible?

 

> _“You don’t mean that,” she whispered, cursing her traitorous mouth for spouting off before she’d had a chance to think about it._
> 
> _“The hell I don’t.  Come here and I’ll show you.”_
> 
> _There it is, she told herself.  An invitation on a silver plate._
> 
> _She leaned forward, sweeping her lips over his gently enough that he grunted in frustration.  He tried to reach out and pull her closer but his stitches pulled and he hissed in pain, gritting his teeth against it.  Chloe huffed out a laugh._
> 
> _“That’s a lot of tough talk for someone currently benched,” she joked, kissing him again._
> 
> _He grunted.  “Goddamn wendigo.”_
> 
> _“Don’t worry, honey,” she told him, pushing his shoulders gently until he was flat on his back again.  She swung a leg over him and sat her generous ass down on the muscle of his thighs.  “I got you.”_
> 
> _Dan opened his mouth in protest and she just had to shut him up with another kiss, taking those scrumptious lips mid-complaint.  He tasted like heaven; the sweetness of his granola trail mix and the lingering bite of whiskey.  Chloe swept her tongue against the seam of his lips, requesting access and getting it instantly as he opened his mouth to her.  She felt his hands run over her shoulders and down her arms.  One of his thumbs glanced the side of her breast and she sighed into his mouth._

 

Dean’s heart sped up as he read.  He undid the top button of his shirt, inhaling deeply. 

 

> _Chloe turned her attention from his full lips to his chiseled jaw and sculpted chin, humming excitedly as she kissed and nipped intermittently.  Dan sighed and his chest worked under her like a bellows.  Just when she thought she was playing a one-sided game she felt his hand creep under her flannel shirt, toying with the skin covering her ribs.  Usually she was ticklish but when it was him lighting them nerves up like the Fourth of July the last thing she felt like doing was laughing._
> 
> _“Getting handsy, are we?” she breathed against his neck as she followed the pounding pulse in his throat with the tip of her tongue._
> 
> _She could hear the grin in his voice.  “You gonna stop me?”_
> 
> _“Not a chance,” she answered, moaning as he tilted his hips up to meet hers.  The hardness pressing against her for that fleeting moment was perfect, at least until Dan’s voice went from aroused to pained and her eyes jerked up._
> 
> _“Sorry,” he answered, “Stitches.”_
> 
> _Chloe grimaced.  “Sweet pea, I’m pretty sure that means we’re going to have to raincheck this.”_
> 
> _“Like hell.  I’ve been wanting my hands on you since you walked into the station.”_
> 
> _“You’re aren’t the only one.  But don’t worry, I’m not giving you up just yet.”_
> 
> _His eyebrows raised in question but she was already moving, her sensitive nipples dragging against him through her shirt as she slid down the length of his body.  She tasted every inch of him she could get, sliding her hands up the front of his t-shirt and flicking her tongue against the dip of muscle at his hips.  The salt of his skin was divine, and she could only imagine how much better he’d taste when she got where she was going._

 

Dean forced his eyes away from the laptop and looked at the ceiling, doing his best to calm himself.  Or prolong the torture, he wasn’t sure.  The images running through his mind were never something he would have let himself think about an author he worked with - not ever - but here he was, in this fantasy deep enough to feel Donna’s lips on his and the smell of her sweet perfume in his nose.  He had stopped imagining Chloe as the the charming Oklahoman and had started hearing Donna’s Minnesota slant on all her character’s dialogue.  

Groaning, Dean opened the fly of his slacks.  

 

> _“Chloe, you don’t have to-”_
> 
> _“The hell I don’t,” she murmured back at him, using his own words to shut him up.  He looked blissfully torn, the poor man.  Trying to be the gentleman she knew him to be and struggling because blowjobs were hard to pass up.  It would have been even harder if he’d known what her quick tongue was capable of, but he’d find out for himself in a minute._
> 
> _Her nimble fingers danced along the waist of his sweats, feathering his skin with light touches that made his abs bunch and jump.  She dipped her chin to lick him over the fabric that confined him, making his hips jerk up to meet her.  The motion was immediately followed by a grunt of pain._
> 
> _“Easy, sugar,” she told him with a wink, “Better let me handle this.”_
> 
> _He growled.  An honest to God growl that shot straight to her clit and singed very nerve ending along the way.  There was a chance her ears were smoking.  Her imagination ran back to those sharpened canines in his mouth and she shivered.  Next time, she promised herself.  Provided they didn’t turn into wendigo chow before then._
> 
> _In the end, Chloe wasn’t a patient woman.  She may be brave, she may be friendly to a fault and incapable of saying no when someone was in need, but she sure as hell didn’t sit and hang around waiting for what she wanted.  And what she wanted right now was the hardness beneath her chin resting its weight on her tongue.  She wanted to watch Dan come apart at the seams as she sucked him down._
> 
> _The waistband of his sweats gave way to her demanding hands and then she had him, the thickness of his cock nestled against the her palm.  Dan drew in a ragged breath as she lightly kissed the crown, his earthy taste exploding into her senses like dynamite.  She licked her lips and stretched her jaw, settling in.  In a few minutes he’d be incapable of saying anything but her name._

 

“Oh, Jesus,” Dean moaned into the still air of his bedroom, his hand gliding up his shaft and twisting.    

He wasn’t going to touch himself, he’d insisted internally as he’d moved the computer on his lap to sit next to him.  But that was before he’d had the image of Donna on her knees in front of him, his dick in her hand and her lips taking him in.  In Dan’s place he would fist his hand in the bright gold of her hair, stitches be damned.  He could feel those locks between his fingers, could feel the warmth of her tongue on him.

Dean bucked into his hand, imagining he was bucking into Donna.

 

> _Chloe tasted him once or twice before going for the kill, accepting that plump head as it passed through her lips and over the top of her tongue.  Dan did his level best to hold still but she could feel him fighting the urge to thrust into her; to fuck her mouth like she suspected he wanted to fuck her, had injuries not put him on the sidelines.  She rewarded his restraint with a quick bob of her head, accepting his precum as it welled up to meet her questing tongue._
> 
> _“God, Chloe,” he groaned, fisting his hands in the sleeping bag beneath him._
> 
> _Normally she would have snarked something back at him but she was busy, laving and worshipping the flesh in her mouth with a fervor that might have worried her if she weren’t so far gone.  Instead she hummed her approval, forcing herself down his length until that deliciously thick head caressed the back of her throat.  She hummed some more to keep herself from gagging.  Hummed a few Led Zeppelin songs, one Def Leppard classic, and her favorite Styx song before he felt him tightening beneath her.  She reached up to roll his heavy sac between her fingers, smiling around him as it drew up closer to his body._
> 
>  

“Oh, God.  Oh fuck.”

Dean blinked hard, tried to refocus.  

The words just kept blurring as he jerked himself off, dragging his cock through his tightened fist and wrenching his hips up off the bed.  The pressure built and built, threatening to consume him.  

 

> _“Chloe,” Dan rasped, reaching down with his good arm to touch her shoulder.  He was warning her, the sweet man.  He didn’t know she intended to take everything he gave her and then some._
> 
> _She took him in faster, bobbing her head and bringing up a hand to grip him in time with her mouth.  Dan moaned, sounding like he was barely hanging on.  Chloe took that as her cue to let him go.  Sucking heavily, she pulled him to the back of her mouth and swallowed repeatedly.  The muscles of her throat worked at that sensitive head of his until he had no choice but to come on her tongue.  He cried her name into the night air, filling and then overflowing her mouth with the searing heat of his release._
> 
>  

“Fuck!”

Dean’s haggard voice rent the silence around him as he came, spurting thick ropes over his hand and onto his dark shirt.  His hips rocked up uncontrollably, still believing it was Donna’s hot mouth on him rather than his own fist.  He came until there was nothing left of him.  No breath in his lungs and no thoughts in his head.  There was only Donna’s face behind his eyes, her voice in his ears.

It took him several minutes to open his eyes again, the endorphin high wearing off as he realized that he’d turned Donna’s work into masturbatory material.  The guilt sprang up then and he let his head fall back to the pillows, more than slightly disappointed to have come back to reality.  Reality came with the knowledge that it was Chloe and Dan getting their fill of each other.  Not him and Donna.  Not really, even if he had been aroused to the point of pain with her voice in his head.

His eyes drifted back to the laptop and he realized there were some words left on the page.  Words that he’d missed when he’d been coming his brains out.

 

> _Chloe sat up, swallowing him down and wiping her mouth on the arm of her shirt.  She looked down at her handiwork, thrilling at the sight of his flushed face and rapid breathing.  His cock was still twitching against his stomach.  Dan’s eyes were fixed on the ceiling of the tent, blinking slowly.  He looked like he’d just gotten blindsided by a Mack truck and damn if that didn’t fill her with a sweet sense of accomplishment that warmed her from the inside out._
> 
> _If there was one thing she was sure of, she’d never get enough of Dean._

 

He jerked, his eyes going back to the last line over and over.

His name.  Dean, not Dan.

Typo?  Intentional?

Typo.  Had to be a typo.  It was one letter off, for Christ’s sake.

But she would have done at least a little of her own proofreading before sending it and it would have been an easy catch.  Or maybe… maybe she wanted him to catch it.  Maybe she wanted him to know that she’d written this chapter with him in mind, imagining like he had that she was the one sucking him off.

Fucking hell.  He was right back where he started.  

  



	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff that gets heated. But still mostly fluff. 
> 
> Story now on Tumblr! The name is ahumanfemale and I swear a lot. Sorry about that.

**Professional Distance**

  


**III**

  


“Thinking something, handsome?”

Donna’s voice shocked him out of his daydream.  Dean dropped the pen he’d been chewing on, looking around to see if she’d somehow managed to sneak into his office without him noticing.  Finally he saw his phone on speaker, the red light holding steady to tell him he was connected.  He must have accepted the call without thinking about it and without knowing who was on the line.  He cleared his throat, reaching for a coffee mug that had been empty for close to an hour now.

“What?  No.”

She giggled.  “Well, ya answered almost a minute ago and then haven’t said anything since.  Either you’re thinking or ya heard my voice and decided to head for the hills.”  

“No.  Um, neither, I mean.”

Fuck, he was blowing this.  You’d think after a decade of reading romance he may have figured out a way to not sound like an idiot talking to this woman.

“Well, I’m glad I didn’t scare ya off at least,” she laughed and he could hear the white noise of a crowd in the background.  A particularly loud scream sounded, making him jump.

“Are you at a football game?” he asked her incredulously.

“What?  Oh, no.  I’m outside one of those big chain bookstores waving at people.”

Right.  She had a signing a few towns over that afternoon, celebrating the release of her fifth book earlier that week.  

“You’re waving at people?” he asked, amused.  

“Well, yah.  I don’t start gabbing at ‘em for another hour so I got a smoothie and now I’m blowing kisses from my car.”

God, he sighed to himself.  Only Donna.

“Only Donna what?” she asked.

Damn it.

“Only Donna would tease her adoring fans from a car with air conditioning while they were waiting to see her,” he needled, delighting in her slightly breathy laugh.  He suddenly wished he was funnier, just so he could hear it again.

“Now I sound like a jerk,” she said, “Maybe I’ll go back and get everyone smoothies.”

“You’re not a jerk.  You’re perf-”  He stopped himself.  “You’re, uh.  You’re perfectly welcome to do that.”

Smooth, Winchester.  So damn smooth.  

But damn if she didn’t giggle again.

“So is this the phone call version of you waving to your fans or are you just checking in?” he asked, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Can’t a girl call just to talk?” she said and he heard another scream from the background.

“Last I checked it’s only girls who do that.”

“You sexist,” she accused gently and he heard her sip from her smoothie.  “Maybe I just wanted to hear your voice.  Or maybe I just wanted to see if you’d read my last two chapters and had some glowing words of praise for me.”

_Sweetheart, you have no idea._

He’d had plenty words of praise for her that morning, coming against the wall of his shower like a teenager.

“I, uh, I haven’t gotten to them yet,” he lied, face heating.  He tamped the memory down, certain she’d be able to read his mind over the phone.  “Sorry about that, it’s been a busy week.”

“Mmm, I don’t think so,” she sang at him and he stilled.  “My girly wiles tell me different.”

“Oh, yeah?  How’s that?”

“I hear you blushing,” she answered and he would have sworn she sounded smug.  “You always sound like you’re blushing after you read one of my sexy time chapters.”

“Blushing isn’t a sound, Donna.”

“It is for you.”

Well, shit.

“I might have peeked at it,” he ventured, sliding a glance at his door to make sure no one could hear him.  

“Might have, huh?”

“Might.”

“Any thoughts on that peek, Deano?” she asked playfully.  She knew she had him - now she was just toying with him for her own benefit.  Something told him the truth would thrill her.

“There was a typo on the last page,” he pointed out and he heard her scoff dismissively.  

“Handsome, I work in a sea of typos.  I eat them for breakfast with my biscuits and gravy.  Come on.”

“Does that mean you’d meant to say that Chloe couldn’t get enough of Dean?” he asked, voice growing husky without his permission.  “I think Dan might get jealous.”

Donna sucked in a breath before blowing it out as a chuckle.  “Did I?  Imagine that.”

“Yeah.  Imagine that.”

“Any other notes I should know about?” she asked slowly, letting the words draw themselves out.  “I’m only a few hours away.  You could show me in person, if you want.  Maybe over a cup of coffee and some dessert?”

Dean felt the floor drop out from under him.  

He heard himself answering in an affirmative, even heard himself giving the name of his favorite diner a few miles from his house and the time he’d meet her.  Didn’t tell himself to do any of it, but he heard it all.  He failed to discern if she was really determined to work tonight or if she had something less professional in mind but it didn’t matter.  It was a good thing his brain had gone on autopilot because he had no intention of missing out on a single second with her, platonic or not.

 

**\-- X --**

 

Seven o’clock rolled around and Dean was sitting in his favorite booth, where he could keep his back to the wall and his eyes on the rest of the diner.  Here he was comfortable.  He could ditch the suit and wear his jeans and plaid, unafraid of appearing unprofessional.  Which was fine for breakfast early on a Sunday morning but it didn’t explain why this was the place he’d chosen to meet Donna.  

Dean did his best to impress on dates.  He dressed up, picked a nice restaurant, wore cologne and his best smile.  It was never disingenuous but it also wasn’t entirely… _him._ He wasn’t that guy - the suave professional, looking for arm candy.  Not really, anyway.  Not where it counted.  Deep down he was this diner, warm and comfortable and familiar.  At ease, even if that was the last thing he was feeling when he watched Donna come through the door.

She looked like a dream he’d had a million times before, her long blonde hair falling in waves down her back.  She was dressed in a Lynrd Skynrd t-shirt and worn jeans that fit to her like a second skin, showing off her every curve like a frame around a priceless painting.  When she turned to look for him on the other side of the restaurant he got a view of her ass that had him looking skyward for strength.  Then she turned the other way and locked eyes with him, breaking into a smile that lit up the whole room.  It caught him in the chest and he stuttered out a breath.  

What in God’s name compelled this woman to look his way he’d never know.  

“Hey there!” she cried, walking up to the table and took a seat across from him.  “Sorry I’m a few minutes late.  I dropped off my sister-in-law at some club in town and traffic was a beast.”

“I didn’t realize you being on time was an option,” he teased as she sat down, opting for playful until he knew just what was going on here.  

“I can bring myself to do it occasionally.  Just don’t start expecting anything crazy,” she said and winked before picking up the menu.  His heart.  Oh, his heart.  “What’s good here?  I’m in the mood for something sweet.”

She went for peach cobbler, served hot and topped with ice cream.  Dean got his usual coffee and apple pie, too distracted to enjoy it as he watched Donna experience her own.  He watched every morsel of that cobbler as it passed her lips, inevitably resulting in her eyes fluttering closed and a pleased whimper leaving her throat.  Once a drop of ice cream stuck to the corner of her mouth and her tongue darted out to collect it, keeping him nothing short of mesmerized.  It was the sweetest pain he’d ever felt to watch her and know he had to keep his hands to himself.  

They talked about nothing for a while; Dean talked about a new author he was working with who he thought had potential.  Historical romance, set in the wild west.  It was the closest he’d gotten to a western in a long time and he was looking forward to digging into the manuscript.  In between sips of coffee Donna related events from her book signing that afternoon after she’d gone back and gotten more smoothies to hand out in line.  The reactions she’d gotten to her latest release were all positive - it shored up her confidence and made her feel like leaving a career in law enforcement behind wasn’t such a bad idea after all.  

“I was shaking like a leaf when I handed in my resignation,” she told him, laughing.  “Everyone at the station thought I was losing my mind, moving off to the city to be some fancy writer.”

“Were you?” he asked, “Losing your mind, I mean.”

“Eh.  I think it’s worked out pretty well so far,” she said happily.  “Considering I had a line of people today who just wanted hugs and an autograph on something I wrote, it’s really hard to complain about being me right now.”

“Sounds like it.  But now I’m feeling a little cheated - if I’d known hugs were on the table I would have shown up myself,” he joked, grinning.  

She rewarded him with another bright smile.  “I would’a moved ya to the front of the line, handsome.  You might’ve had to fight someone for it but I have faith in you.”

Dean laughed, accepting a refill when the waitress brought a fresh pot of coffee around.

“So was writing always your plan?” he asked.  “Career plan, I mean.”

“Ha!  Oh, heavens no.  I enjoyed it in school well enough but it wasn’t really something that stuck,” she said.  “I wanted to help people.  That’s it and at the time it seemed like being a cop was my only option.”

“Kind of hard to see how that translates into being a romance author,” he said honestly.  “Shouldn’t you be writing murder mysteries?”

“Oh, no.  I got plenty of that during the day.  What do I want to come home and write about it for?”

“You’ve got a point.”

“I started writing because I started reading.  I kicked off with the trashy paperbacks and worked my way around every subgenre I could get my hands on,” she said, spooning another bite of cobbler into her mouth.  “After things started getting rocky with Doug I was looking for an escape and I found it in those books.  Reading replaced a lot of the intimacy I was lacking elsewhere and when I felt like I’d read everything there was to read I had no choice but to go out and write my own.”

Dean frowned.  “Who’s Doug?”

“Oh!” she cried, flushing a deep shade of scarlet.  It was the first time he’d ever seen her sunny confidence falter.  “Doug is my ex-husband.”

“Sorry,” he said and meant it.  He could see it still smarted.  “I didn't know you were married.”

“Not for years now,” she scoffed, waving him off. “He wasn't a big fan of mine, it turns out.  Missed his affections by about thirty pounds, I think.  And he sure as shootin’ didn't like me writing in my spare time instead of sitting around waiting to be his doormat.”

Dean’s fists clenched under the table.  For the first time since his bar fighting days in college, he really felt like putting his fist through something.

“Doug sounds like a dick.”

She snorted, beaming at him.  It took him a second to understand why - she wasn’t used to people sticking up for her, which was bullshit.  He’d call Doug every name in the book if it meant she’d keep looking at him like that.  

“Doug is a dick,” she agreed with a smile.  “And who's got time for that?  Let's talk about something else.  Here, I've got some ideas for the next few chapters that I want to run by ya.”

Dean nodded his head in agreement, happy to leave the subject behind if it got rid of that stricken look on her face.  He turned, reaching for a legal pad from his bag.  When he picked up his head again Donna was sliding into the booth next to him, that same toothy smile in place like they hadn't just been talking about a less than pleasant part of her life.  She scooted closer, their thighs and shoulders meeting in the briefest glance, and he breathed her in.  The heat from her body lit him up and his skin prickled in awareness.  She smelled like something warm and sweet - a fireplace and pure vanilla.  He wanted to drown in her.  Instead he met her gaze, green against eyes so dark brown they looked like the coffee in his cup.  

“Hey,” he said stupidly.  

“Hey,” she answered and leaned across him.  His heart thumped heavily in his chest but then he felt the pad of paper being pulled from his grasp.  She asked him something but it never made it past the buzzing in his ears.  “What?”

“Do ya have a pen in there somewhere?”

“Yeah, sorry, hold on.”

Donna took it and then took charge, scribbling notes and diagrams in between scoops of her leftover ice cream. An hour passed in a blink, and then they were creeping up on two.  She rambled and thought out loud, treating him less like a conversational partner and more like a sounding board.  He didn't mind.  He'd never really had much insight into her process so watching her work was fun for him.  It was interesting to watch something worthwhile form out of the chaos.  She wrote like a madwoman, scrawling ideas and comments on the margins of every page and occasionally giggling in delight with herself.  The thrill of creating something from nothing was painted across her face, drawing color to the surface of her pale skin and ecstatic fire into her eyes.  Donna took in the warm light of the diner like it was made for her.

She was perfect.  God help him, she was perfect.  

Dean’s hand reached out and touched her jaw before he had the good sense to talk himself out of it.  It broke her concentration, pulling her eyes up from her scribbles to find him staring at her.  He had no idea what she saw but it made her smile and lean closer.

“See something you like, handsome?”

“Yeah,” he answered softly, the gravel in his voice making it closer to a growl.  

“You gonna do something about it?”

“Hell yes.”

He dove in before he lost his nerve, before the magic faded and he woke up to find that he was still in his office and daydreaming.  Their lips met, fitted together perfectly, and he could have sworn he saw sparks flying behind his closed eyes.  Donna tasted like peaches and sweet coffee, drawing him in and compelling him to drink deeper.  She parted her lips on a wistful breath, welcoming him in and anchoring herself with a hand gripped tight on the muscle of his thigh.  The dull burn of her touch connected them, drew him closer.  He wanted to disappear into her and never come up for air again.

Dean ran his tongue over the roof of her mouth and dragged his hands through her hair, needing to feel more.  Hear more, taste more.  She gave a slight jerk at the sensation, teeth grazing his bottom lip, and he groaned.  His pulse hit the roof.  Donna balled her fist in his shirt to pull him closer and his heart rate broke through that roof and kept right on racing until he was dizzy.  He was hard, aching with wanting her, and she was clearly trying to kill him when she levered her chest up to graze his.

“Jesus,” he said, breaking away from her.  The fact that they were in public had only barely come back to his awareness.  He hadn’t meant to paw at her, certainly not in some cheap faux-leather booth like an idiot, but he was human and there was only so much he could take without cracking.

“Where?!” she cried playfully, pretending to look around.  Her cheeks were flushed and holy hell, she was grinning at him like he was something she could order off the menu.  Surely this was absolute proof that she knew what she was doing when she put him in that story.

It was now or never.

“Donna, did you-”

She interrupted his question by picking his pen up again, flipping to a new page on his legal pad and scribbling furiously.  His view was blocked by her arm but in a minute she sat back and let him have a look.

 

_Want to get out of here?_

 

It was followed up with a doodle of a unicorn, racing toward a giant exit sign.

Dean wanted to laugh, maybe fall to his knees and thank whatever deities existed, but what he ended up doing was nodding his head mutely and watching her drain what was left in her coffee cup like it was a shot for courage.  His brain was still too foggy to do much more than agree to everything.  He was preparing to try and speak up again when Donna’s phone rang, a blaring Queen guitar solo that made his heart skip a beat.  If he wasn’t half in love with her already, he sure as hell was now.

“Oh, what in the heck?” she marveled, looking at the screen.  “Uh-oh.  It’s my sister-in-law.  Hold on, I’ll be right back.”

Dean watched her slide out of the booth and head for the door, face growing more worried as she moved.  By the time she stepped outside he was convinced something was wrong.  He collected his things and reached for his wallet, throwing a few bills on the table before heading for the door.  He found her leaning against her car, phone to her ear with a fingernail pulled between her teeth.  

“Yeah.  Yeah, okay.  I’m on my way.  Give me a few minutes.”

He approached slowly, concerned now.  “Hey, everything okay?”

“Sure, I guess so.  She wants me to come get her and take her back to the hotel.  She’s drunk and there are some shifty looking guys there so she doesn’t want to leave the club alone.”

“That’s smart,” Dean observed and Donna nodded.  

“Yeah, it is.  Damn it,” she said, huffing out an incredulous laugh.  She pushed herself off her car and got close again, resting her forehead against his chest.  Her voice was muffled against the fabric but the sensation of her breath so close to his skin still made his pulse jump.  “Dean, I’m so sorry.  I have to go.”

“Do you need me to go with you?” he asked, pushing his own questions aside for the time being.  She looked up at him in confusion.  “I can throw a punch if needed.”

She grinned.  “I have no doubt, handsome, but I’ve got this.  I’m an officer of the law, remember?  I might even have handcuffs in my trunk still.”

That was going to torture him for the rest of the night.

“Okay,” he said slowly, already dreading the goodbye.  “You’ll call me if you need anything, right?”

“You don’t have to worry about me.  Scout’s honor.”

“You can call even if you don’t need anything,” he suggested softly, surrendering to temptation and threading his fingers through her long blonde hair.  Her eyes slipped closed and she sighed.

“Anything?” she breathed, a smile tilting up the corner of her mouth.  

“Anything.”

“I’ll live to see you regret that, handsome,” she warned.  

“Never,” he said and tilted her face up to him, grazing his lips against hers before dragging them up the line of her jaw.  He touched the very tip of his tongue to the thrumming pulse along her throat, making a note of the way it made her shiver against him.  

“Dean,” she whispered, hand squeezing his arm.  His name sounded like sex on her lips.  

“Yeah.”

“I have to go.”

“I heard.”

“You hold my place,” she told him, stepping away and pulling her keys from her pocket.  She pointed a stern finger at him.  “I’m coming back for you.”

He could do nothing but nod as she climbed in the dark and drove away, waving in his direction as she headed out of the parking lot.  It didn’t occur to him until he was halfway home that she didn’t say where or when she’d be coming back for him.  


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Donna pass a week of separation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there's a lot of texting in this chapter and that got a little tricky to write so Donna's messages are in italics and Dean's messages are in bolded italics. Also, this is a little bit of a filler chapter but we needed it to go from point A to point B so here we are.
> 
> Thanks for following along.

Donna texted him just before midnight, letting him know that they’d made it back to the hotel.  Her sister-in-law was wasted and had to be poured into bed, so Donna was going to stick around in case she got sick.  She was a good friend - kind and caring.  Dean couldn’t fault her for that.  The downside was that her plane was leaving early the next morning to take them back to Minnesota - she was dropping off her sister-in-law and hanging out with family for a week before she came back to the city for her release party.  

Dean told her to get some rest - he’d see her next week.

He dragged himself into bed late that night but couldn’t force himself to go to sleep.  His head was still buzzing, drunk with the memories of Donna pressed so close to him.  He thought of their kiss and his head spun, taking him right back to the moment he’d first tasted the sweetness of her lips and felt her hands on him.  She’d never done anything but shake his hand before that moment but kissed him like she’d been thinking about it for years. 

Donna wanted him.

The thought was a drug and he was hooked, riding the high.  

At this rate he’d never sleep again.

 

**\-- X --**

 

Work was harder than he thought it would be the next morning, which wasn't improved by the fact that it was a Saturday.  Dean still forced himself to sit down with his laptop, making peace with his lot.  An alarming number of chapters had piled up in his queue while he was pining over Donna the last few weeks.  None of his authors were making a fuss but he felt bad about it anyway, knowing they were too polite to give him hell.  It was his only task of the morning to try and get to his longest-neglected works.  

Dean worked through the morning and ate lunch at his computer, straining his eyes until he had a roaring headache.  He once again contemplated the need for reading glasses.  The thought made him grimace - he was too young for that, damn it.  He wasn’t even forty yet.

He was popping some painkillers and bemoaning his age when his phone buzzed from his desk.  Distracted, he perked up only when he realized that it was a message from Donna.  He pulled up the message and one eyebrow quirked up in confusion.  

It was a short excerpt of prose but it wasn’t Chloe or Dan.  

 

_ Donna dragged herself across the airport, tired to the point of falling over.  The early morning flight had seemed like a good idea until her idiot sister-in-law decided to go clubbing and fall off the wagon.  Donna was up holding her hair out of the toilet until two in the morning.  Their flight left at seven.  There was a chance she was in Hell.  The real one - not that vegan bakery she found in California. _

 

Dean smirked and another message appeared.

 

_ The only thing propelling her tired behind through the crowd was her memories of the night before, her brain occupied with thoughts of candy apple green eyes and long legs.  Scruff the color of cinnamon, flecked with gold.  Mmm, cinnamon sounded good.  Every airport had a Cinnabon, right?  Hold on. _

 

This time he laughed aloud, collapsing back into his chair and looking at the ceiling.  It was a few minutes before another message appeared.  

 

_ They totally had a Cinnabon.   _

_ Donna was pleased at this turn of events.  With enough carbs she would be able to refrain from strangling the walking hangover next to her.  She had no intention of going down for murder - not today, anyway - so she ate the doughy roll of sugar in a few bites.  If she got an extra one in a to-go box it was a public service, thank you very much.   _

 

Dean snorted.

 

_ Anyway, Donna was thinking about Dean.  About the way his full lips caressed the rim of his coffee cup and the way his tongue darted out in concentration while they spoke.  Watching him think was nothing short of pornographic.  Brows drawn, bottom lip between his teeth.  She was a few seconds away from fanning herself even now, with just the memory to keep her company.  Watching those lips in action was a burlesque show - feeling them on hers was another matter entirely.  The taste of him on her tongue turned her inside out. _

 

Dean cleared his throat, shifting in his chair.  

 

_ Leaving was the last thing she’d wanted to do that night.  What she wanted was to pay the check, drag him out of there, and pin him against the side of that shiny black car in the parking lot.  She’d kiss him silly, until she couldn’t breathe and her head spun.  If her hands happened to wander, who could blame her?  And if the two of them happened to fall into the backseat, everyone would understand.  Really, just look at the guy. _

 

She had no idea what he would have given for that.  Even now his hands itched to touch her again.  The image of Donna getting handsy with him against his beloved Baby was a daydream he would have to file away for future use.

 

_ When her phone rang she wanted to chuck it across the restaurant because she knew what it meant.  It meant walking away from the hunk of beefcake she’d been lusting after for years, just when she got her first taste.  The injustice of it all rendered her breathless.  Surely the universe wasn’t so cruel as to deprive her of him completely.   _

 

Like hell, he thought to himself.  He typed a quick reply, not worrying about interrupting her train of thought.  

 

**_The next time I see you, you’re mine.  Hell or high water, sweetheart._ **

 

It was several long minutes before Donna replied, making him sweat.  Maybe he should have thought of something better.  He dove as soon as her name popped up on the screen.  

 

_ Donna read Dean’s message, the words making her swoon.  She had no choice but to collapse into a puddle in the middle of the airport.  Maintenance en route.   _

 

Dean chuckled and put the phone aside, mouth stretched into a bright smile.  Donna wanted him.  Donna had wanted him for years, apparently.  The knowledge felt miraculous - too good to be true.  Chest tight, he read over her messages again.  Laughed harder, smile hurting his cheeks, wishing he could live in that moment for just a little while longer.  Then reality seeped back in the cracks and it was okay.  His headache had lessened and his work no longer seemed so oppressive.  Things were good.  

His world was better with Donna in it.   

 

**\-- X --**

 

Donna sent more of the same messages over the next few days, all in the same narrative format.  They told him about her day, what she was thinking at any particular time.  She didn’t seem to require responses from him, which was good because he rarely knew what to say.  He would comment every so often just so she would keep going.  Mostly he was afraid that he would break the spell that had wound around him, keeping him walking on air.  Those texts had gone from amusing to a lifeline in a matter of days.  If he couldn’t have Donna, they were the next best thing.  

 

_ Donna woke with a smile on her face and the smell of breakfast in her nose.  The former because of a certain editor, and the latter because… wait.  Who was in her house?! _

_... _

_ It was fine.  Donna’s mother had snuck in through the back door to surprise her with food.  Which was normal.  Mothers did that.  Right? _

 

Not mine, Dean thought.  Though she did pick the lock on his front door once when she left her cell phone in his couch.

 

_ Donna told herself she wasn’t going to go hang out with Jody this trip.  It was a short one and she didn’t have time to do a five-day hangover recovery program.  But gosh, did she miss Jody.  They’d been best friends since middle school and Jody had a taste for trouble that Donna didn’t.  Drinking and getting matching tattoos kind of trouble.  She’d barely escaped last time, just before she’d drunkenly inked “party girl” into her thigh.   _

 

Dean couldn’t imagine her with a tattoo.  At all.  But then he really wondered if she had one and filed that question away for later.  

The next day Donna was determined to work.

 

_ The blank page stared, mocking.  Chloe and Dan were in serious need of resolution but their creator was distracted.  Something to do with her editor, but they didn’t know that.  They only knew that Dan’s wound was infected and they needed to kill the monster and get him to a hospital. He might get sepsis and die at this point. _

 

Poor Dan, he thought.  Tough break. 

 

_ This was all Dean’s fault.  It might be his fault that Dan existed at all, so when her characters came to life as vengeful fictional spirits they could haunt him first.   _

 

Dean scoffed and replied,  **_Is that a confession?_ **

 

A few minutes later she replied,  _ Donna had to go sorry bye. _

 

They spent the week that way, Donna sending prose and Dean sending back snarky comments to keep her going.  He read her messages in between edits, using them as rewards for getting actual work done.  Donna bought books with her mother.  Cooked with her dad.  Got caught texting him under the dinner table, after which her phone was taken away because they didn't buy her telling them it was for work.  It didn’t seem to matter that she was in her thirties.  

She did, in fact, go out with Jody.  

She was, in fact, hung over afterwards.  

It must have been pretty bad because the only thing she sent him the next day was:

 

_ Diagnosis: Acute alcohol poisoning.  _

_ Cause: Jody effing Mills.  _

_ Prognosis: Leave me here to die.  _

 

She must have been down for the count because he didn't hear anything else until the next afternoon, when she narrated making travel plans to come back for her release party.  Chloe Ransom’s fifth adventure had hit the shelves the week before and was already a success, leading her publisher to throw her a party to celebrate.  Any other author would have basked and preened but not Donna.  Donna had to take good news and turn it into a death sentence.

 

_ Donna finished an email to her stylist and sighed, nerves already mounting.  Her skin prickled in anxiety and all her worst nightmares started springing up in her mind, all in excruciating detail.  Writing was one thing but those people might want her to talk. Out loud. In front of an audience.  What the heck was that about?   _

 

Her fear of public speaking wasn't news to him. Donna had been actively avoiding speaking engagements for years.  She personally felt as though they should just hire an actress to be Chloe so she could come and speak in character, leaving Donna out of it completely.

 

_ What if she stuttered?  Or passed out?  Or got sick!  Mary and Joseph, she'd never live that down.  It would wind up on YouTube and that would be it.  End of story.  There goes that writer lady - she tossed her cookies all over her publishers and never wrote again.   _

 

Dean smirked as he walked to his car, finally done for the night.  He replied,  **_That's not going to happen._ **

 

_ Dean didn't know.  He wasn't psychic, but the gesture was appreciated.   _

 

**_I could be psychic.  You never know._ **

 

_ She did know.  If Dean were psychic all these years it wouldn’t have taken such drastic measures to get his attention.  He would have heard her every depraved thought through a megaphone, straight into his brain.  Donna would have seen the smoke coming from his ears, because she really did have a terrific imagination. _

 

Dean’s eyes crinkled as he smirked.  **_Were you having unprofessional thoughts about me?_ **

 

_ Donna would confess to nothing, but the images sprouted up behind her eyes anyway.  Would he ever know the kinds of thoughts she’s had about him over the years?  The sheer number would probably horrify him.  Climbing into his lap on the couch along the back wall of his office, praying no one walked in as she ran her fingers through his tousled hair.  Or looking up at him through her lashes from under his desk as her fingers found the clasp of his belt. _

 

He cleared his throat.   **_Those are definitely not professional._ **

 

_ You asked,  _ she replied, dispensing with the narration for the first time since they started texting a few days ago.  Dean laughed and sent his reply before putting his phone down and pulling into traffic.

 

**_I did._ **

 

_ Are you coming to the release party? _

 

**_I always do._ **

 

_ Maybe don’t bring a date tomorrow? _

 

Dean stopped at a light, smile threatening to break across his face.  If he didn’t know any better Donna was asking him out.  What she didn’t know was that he’d never brought a date to one of her events.  He’d always been afraid that whatever woman he brought would take one look at him near her and figure it out.  The fact that he was crazy about her would have been written across his face.

 

**_Maybe I don’t.  What if I find one there?_ **

 

_ That’s the idea, handsome. _

 

 

Dean drove the rest of the way home with a smile on his face and happy anticipation buzzing in his ears.  

He wanted Donna.

Donna wanted him.

They had a date tomorrow night.  

He whistled through dinner, sang while he did the dishes, and still couldn’t bring himself to go to sleep until after midnight.  


	5. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donna tortures Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was supposed to be a six-chapter fic but Donna decided to get wordy so I've had to add another chapter. Don't worry, though. The last chapter is already written. I already know how it ends! *evil laughter*

**Professional Distance**

 

**V**

 

When the sun rose the next day, Dean woke up with the itch of anticipation under his skin.  It was palpable in every breath he took and every thought in his head.  It was perfect and it was torture.  Euphoria and sweet agony, twined around every thought until he couldn’t distinguish them anymore.

Donna was coming back today.

_Euphoria._

They had a date.

_Ecstasy._

He wouldn’t see her until that night.

_Agony._

The day crawled by at a snail’s pace, the sinking sun teasing him as the afternoon wore on.  He tried to work, tried to think, but it wouldn’t happen.  His brain wasn’t capable of processing anything other than Donna’s face behind his eyes and the memory of her skin under his fingers.  The knowledge that he would see her in a few hours only made the anticipation worse until it was all he could do to keep from running out of his office and across the city to her hotel.  He’d run through the halls, screaming her name until he found her room and she had no choice but to let him in.  It was a good way to get a restraining order but he couldn't help but entertain the thought.

Finally his alarm went off, telling him it was time to go home and get ready.

Dean had laid out his suit that morning, pressing the wrinkles out of the deep black fabric and starching his white shirt.  His best black tie was set aside.  He’d stopped just short of picking every individual piece of lint off the damn thing, but only just.  The nervous energy made him very detail-oriented, apparently.  Now, he smoothed the jacket down and looked in the mirror for the dozenth time in the last half hour.  It fit him the same as it always did, tight across his shoulders but otherwise fine.  His hair had smoothed into place evenly and he’d shaved, trying very hard to look like someone who belonged with Donna.  He’d even gone so far as to dress in neutral black, not knowing what she was wearing and not wanting to clash with her.  Even if he hadn’t quite realized his motivations, subconsciously he wanted it to look like they belonged together.

He was ready too soon, he realized with a groan when he was ready and putting on his watch.  He wouldn’t have to leave for another hour.  Sighing and loosening his tie, Dean headed to the kitchen.  He’d drink a beer, eat some leftovers.  Pretend this wouldn’t be the longest damn hour of his life, dragging on and on until he felt like screaming.  Luckily the beer was cold and smooth on his tongue, sliding easily down his throat.  It settled warm in his stomach and he sighed again, this time in satisfaction.  He tossed a tupperware container in the microwave and took another long pull from the bottle.  

Only fifty-three minutes left to go.

The microwave dinged to let him know his food was edible and at his phone beeped simultaneously, his inbox letting him know that a new message had popped up.  Faced with very little else to do, he opened his email to find that the new message was from Donna.  He frowned first in confusion, then in concern that she was cancelling, only to find that it was a work email.  The message contained the next three chapters in the saga of Chloe and Dan.  

Dean pored over it, reading in between bites of leftover lasagna.  Chloe and Dan managed to kill the wendigo and make it out of the forest, although only barely.  Chloe was sporting some cracked ribs and Dan was spiking a fever, weak enough now that Chloe was almost carrying him down the trail.  She was able to radio for help as they got closer to civilization, the ambulance meeting them at the entrance to the forest just as she was ready to collapse.  They both got loaded up and taken in, Dan jokingly telling her not to run off before the pain pills kicked in and he passed out.

Chloe stayed.

Even after they taped up her ribs and she was cleared to leave, even after she learned that Dan would be fine, she stayed.  

This was a new MO for Chloe, who prided herself on her ability to avoid attachments.  She had her dad and her sister - everyone else was optional.  Except, suddenly, for Dan.  For Dan she stayed in that waiting room and worried herself sick, imagining the swollen and angry red edges of the wound as the EMTs ripped his shirt apart to treat him.  

A nurse came out and asked for her, shaking Chloe out of her brooding and down to something deeper than bone.  Maybe to her soul.  She hadn’t realized how scared she was that she might not see him again until the moment it was a possibility.  

 

 

 

 

> _“Detective Ransom?”_
> 
> _She nodded.  “That’s me.”_
> 
> _Ahem.  Sort of._
> 
> _“He wants you.”_
> 
> _The words struck her completely mute.  She realized that the nurse meant he wanted to see her, but Chloe had been scared philosophical and she felt the burn of tears behind her eyes._
> 
> _“Do you need a minute?” the nurse asked, clearly making an effort to be accommodating.  In reality, she had a whole other wing of patients to worry about and mopping Chloe up off the waiting room floor was not a priority._
> 
> _“I’m good,” Chloe said, easing her sore torso up out of the chair.  “Lead the way.”_
> 
> _He wasn’t in the ICU, which she considered a good sign.  She was led to his room and then abandoned as the nurse took off for the next room, the next tower of paperwork.  Fine by her.  Dan was staring out the window, watching the sun as it sank behind dark storm clouds building on the horizon.  The light filtered through as a dark, bloody red that splashed over the floor and the blanket on his bed.  A reminder of what could have happened.  It made bile rise up in Chloe’s throat even as she studied him, appreciating the strong jaw and the half-week of beard growth.  He was gorgeous.  And smart.  And kind.  And resourceful.  Maybe even perfect, even if her logical brain balked at the word._
> 
> _The nurse’s words rang in her ears._
> 
> He wants you.
> 
> _She wanted him, too._
> 
> _Finally Dan noticed her there and turned to face her with a big dopey grin, taking ten years off his face while still making those wrinkles at the corners of his eyes appear.  Damn him.  This wasn’t supposed to happen.  Chloe was supposed to show up, kill the monster, and leave.  Maybe have a few laughs and a roll in the hay if a pretty face was in the area.  She wasn’t supposed to let herself get tied into a knot over some park ranger, even one with glittering emerald eyes and a voice that made every cell in her body hum._
> 
> _He was going to hurt her._
> 
> _“Hey, detective,” he greeted, speech slurred by morphine, and patted the bed next to him.  “Come sit with me.”_
> 
> _And goddamn it, she was going to let him._

 

Dean closed the document and looked at the wall in front of him, his dinner forgotten next to him.  His beer sat neglected on the counter.

This was the closest he’d gotten to a window into Donna’s thoughts, he realized.  

She was a master of deflection, avoiding topics like Doug with ease.  A bright smile and a quick shift of the conversation was all it took to put the unpleasantness in the rearview mirror.  She may have narrated her adventures with Jody and opinions on bobby pins, may have confessed to having thoughts about him that made his heart race, but she’d never told him much more than that.  Certainly had never hinted on what all this was about, even with Chloe and Dan racing inevitably toward each other.

Now he knew.  

Now he knew that she was just as torn up over him as he was over her.  Dean could relate - he craved her like sunlight, like air, even as he held himself back from initiating anything for fear of rejection.  It might have killed him, he realized now, and she must be feeling something close to that if Chloe’s inner dialogue was to be trusted.  He knew now that Donna was opening herself up to him, to whatever it was they were cultivating between them.  Even after a divorce, even after being hurt.  

She was giving him a chance.

And goddamn it, he was going to take it.

 

**\-- X --**

 

Donna’s release party was in one of the big executive’s penthouses, an entire two floors perched atop a skyscraper in the densest part of the city.  Deciding against taking the chance that someone would scratch Baby in a public parking lot, Dean called for a cab and anxiously kept an eye on his phone the entire ride.  He’d started a new message roughly a dozen times, only to erase it and groan in frustration.  Even now he stared at his phone, willing himself to find the perfect words to convince her that she was safe with him.

She was perfect.

He wouldn’t hurt her.

She drove him crazy.

He wanted her so much that it was a physical presence in his veins, incinerating him with every beat of his heart.

As always, Donna beat him to the punch.  Her message popped up a block from the party, simple and somehow managing to convey every bit of her anxiety.  He could feel her tensing up from his place in the cab, worrying about speaking in front of people and then worrying about how personal she’d gotten with Chloe and Dan.

 

_You still gonna make it?_

 

Dean sent his reply and tucked the phone into his breast pocket, hoping he’d said enough to put her at ease.

 

**_Wouldn’t miss this for the world._ **

 

The cab dropped him off and the doorman checked his name against the guest list, letting him in with a smile and a general encouragement to have a nice time.  Dean smiled in thanks and headed for the elevator, pleased when it was occupied with people he knew.  Making polite small talk spared him from getting himself worked up over this going well.  It was all he could do to keep his head in the conversation instead of wondering where Donna would be when they got to the penthouse.  Would she be mingling?  Would she be waiting for him at the elevator?  Would she be cornered by another agent, pitching the newest movie deal?

The elevator opened and they all exited, greeted by catering staff with pressed white shirts and slim flutes of champagne.  Dean turned his down, wishing instead for another beer.  Hell, maybe whiskey. His eyes scanned the party, looking for Donna and coming up empty.  She was probably hyperventilating in a spare bedroom.  The thought made him grimace.  He wanted to help if she was nervous, which she almost certainly was.  He kept half of his attention on his phone in case she needed him, doing his best to stay at the edges of the crowd to keep a better eye out for her.

She didn’t show.

He didn’t catch a hint of her blonde hair or the fabric of her undoubtedly bright dress against the dark formal wear everyone else had donned.  Her bubbly laughter never rose above the murmur of the crowd or the faint beat of the music.  Dean circled the main room one more time, exchanged words with a few people he knew, and made his way back to the kitchen to peek inside.  The food was all vampire-themed to match Chloe’s latest baddie and while he was interested in the fang-marked cupcakes, they weren’t what he was looking for.  His mind turned traitor, suggesting that maybe Donna had changed her mind.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he grabbed for it a little too quickly, leaning against a bookshelf to keep anyone from reading over his shoulder.  His first thought was to go into interrogation mode - _where are you? -_ but her message stopped him.  

 

_Donna watched Dean move through the throng of people, stone-faced and single-minded in his pursuit.  At first she thought he might have been looking for something a little stronger than champagne, she couldn’t blame him for that, but then she noticed that his eyes popped up whenever a blonde head passed by.  Was he looking for her?_

 

Dean scowled.   **_You know I am._ **

 

_Waiting was torture, Donna thought to herself as she readjusted her dress for the hundredth time in the last hour.  She’d spent the day agonizing over seeing him, counting down the seconds until she could get an eyeful of the man who made her feel like an idiot teenager with hormonal problems._

 

 **_You and me both._ ** He sighed, looking around the room again in hopes of catching a glance.  If she could see him, he could undoubtedly find her.   **_You know we could skip this, right?  Just get out of here?_ **

 

_God, how she wanted to.  She wanted to climb down the fire escape and get a taxi out of there, especially if Dean was offering to escape with her.  But she made a commitment and had every intention of sticking to it, even if it meant waiting that much longer to touch him.  Donna stared at him, the pouting jut of his lower lip as he frowned at his phone, and remembered dragging her tongue over that plump swell of flesh.  She wanted another taste more than she wanted her next breath._

_Dean didn’t know what she’d been doing all day, in between makeup and hair appointments and looking longingly at food that she wasn’t allowed to have.  Devoid of all other human satisfaction she’d been forced to write, pushing Chloe and Dan ever further toward completion.  Narrative completion as well as physical, she thought as she recalled scribbling filthy words on a hotel notepad.  Her skin had superheated in minutes, thinking less of Dan’s character than she had the man who inspired him._

 

Dean’s brow furrowed and he snuck glances over his shoulders, making sure no one was behind him to read his phone.  

 

_There was only so much you could do with your imagination but Donna did her best, imagining planes of muscle covered in lightly tanned skin.  She suspected the light dusting of freckles across his nose and cheekbones might appear elsewhere along the length of his body, a constellation to guide her intrepid fingers as they committed him to memory.  She would read him like braille before letting herself have a taste, Donna thought to herself.  If it took her all night, she would memorize every inch of muscle and bone and skin that made him whole.  Dean was an oasis and she’d been stranded in the desert a very long time - she would drink him in as though her life depended on it._

 

Dean’s eyes closed and he took a deep breath in through his nose, only barely holding it together.  The air passed back through his slightly parted lips but did nothing to calm his pounding heart.  

 

_Maybe her life did depend on it, she mused to herself.  She’d spent the day fantasizing about what she’d do to him once they were in the same room and now it felt like she would die if she didn’t touch him.  Her imagination supplied all the details, from the fabric of his suit to the softness of his hair as it carded through her fingers.  The smell of his aftershave.  It was hell.  Sweet hell that made her every breath sizzle in her lungs.  They were a few scant feet away and heat had pooled mercilessly between her thighs, the slick flesh desperate for attention she couldn’t give.  Even if she could, her own fingers would only be a disappointment knowing Dean’s were in reach._

 

 **_Jesus, Donna._ ** They were the only words his overwrought brain could process, most of his blood in the process of rushing elsewhere.

 

_She couldn’t help but wonder if Dean was experiencing his own personal hell in that suit, flesh hardening against his zipper as Donna’s words scrolled across his mind.  Could he feel how much she wanted him through the phone?  She felt like everyone who passed her could tell that she was burning up, aching and wet.  How he was tolerating all this she would never know._

 

 **_I’m going crazy here,_ ** he told her honestly.   **_I need to see you.  Please._ **

 

He never got the chance to plead his case.  The executive responsible for the party - Gabriel something or other - had stepped into the middle of the room, tapping his fork on his glass to get everyone’s attention.  He gave a charismatic introduction that got plenty of laughs and applause, smiling smugly at the attention even as he was talking up Donna’s success and the work she’d put into it.  Goddamn it, this was lasting forever.  Dean was considering giving up his place at the back of the room in favor of searching every room for his date but then he heard Donna’s pseudonym and he stood at attention again.  

The healthy smattering of applause faded into the roar of blood in his ears as Donna emerged from a dark hallway onto the landing above them, overlooking the party.  Her hair was pulled into an intricate knot at the base of her neck and her eyes had been lined in dark makeup, turning her warm eyes into something closer to sultry.  Gold earrings dangled from her ears, drawing his eyes to the smooth line of her neck and then to the bare expanse of her collarbones.  Gold bracelets dangled on her wrists as she grasped the banister, grounding herself.  

She was wearing the tightest dress he’d ever seen, the smooth black leather stretching over her waist and hips before transforming into dense black lace that brushed against the floor.  It was strapless, the neckline dipping low between her breasts before converging into a solid gold zipper that trailed down her front to stop at the apex of her thighs.   Dean felt like his every daydream had been picked apart and put on display, exposing the depth of his desire to a room full of people.  He watched helplessly as Donna’s eyes surveyed the crowd and found his.  Her gaze hit him like a crack of lightning, shooting straight down his spine to the insistent throb of his erection.

Wanting her was going to kill him.


	6. VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ALL THE SMUT. LITERALLY ALL OF IT.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pure filth that makes me equal parts proud and ashamed. The next chapter is already finished, it just needs to be edited. It'll take me a few days, as I'm going out of town for work. 
> 
> Enjoy! Or don't, sorry. I'm not trying to tell you what to do. 
> 
> \- AHF

**Professional Distance**

 

 

**VI**

 

 

Dean knew she was talking.

Dean even knew he should be listening, knowing how much Donna loathed doing this kind of thing and how nervous she had to be.  Still, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.  He could tell what her stylist had been going for - dressing Donna up like Chloe Ransom - and it seemed to be working.  Donna looked like she had some steel creeping back into her spine, straightening up as she landed a joke about Chloe being happy to break up the local Twilight convention.  She was starting to sound like herself again.

She answered questions and gave coquettish hints about Donna’s next adventure, talking about forests and wild west folklore dating back a few hundred years.  There were a few people who wanted to know about Chloe’s recovery, both from her substantial injuries and the loss of her partner.  A blush spread over her face when one woman asked what kind of man Chloe would be getting her hands on next.  Dean didn’t bother to hide his smirk as her eyes flew to meet his, the corner of her mouth twitching up into a smile.  

“One that takes her completely by surprise,” she answered enigmatically.  “Chloe’s due for some change, I think, and this new guy is more than happy to keep her on her toes.”

The room settled into murmurs of speculation over this tidbit while they stared each other down.  Donna broke first, eyes drifting over the rest of him as he leaned up against the shelf.  He watched her swallow hard, mouth opening slightly.  The impulse to kiss her flared through his bloodstream and then the moment had paused, Donna going back to answer a few more questions.  She finished by thanking a few people.  Her stylist for her outfit - hell, Dean would be sending the woman flowers tomorrow - as well as her agent and her family for being supportive of her.  She thanked her readers for continuing to care about Chloe and her adventures.

“And as always, thanks go to my editor Dean Winchester,” she said, gesturing to him.  A few guests gave him the once-over before turning back to Donna.  “Thank you for your time and your priceless feedback, and thank you for being such an inspiration to these projects.  One day I’ll have to find a way to properly thank you.”

He could find a way, he thought.  Just give him a couple of minutes and a dark hallway and she could thank him all she wanted.

But he couldn’t say that so instead he nodded and smiled to the room’s applause.  Donna thanked everyone for coming and asked them to help themselves to some gory baked goods.  She asked everyone to take a signed copy of the book home with them when they left before handing the floor back to Gabriel, who seemed determined to entertain a while longer.  He started off on a story about the first time he’d met Donna and the room was enraptured again, attention elsewhere as Donna retreated from the landing to find the stairs to the main level.  

Dean pushed away from the shelf and headed around the bulk of the crowd, hoping to meet her at the pass.  She saw him coming and sped up a little, using one hand to lift her skirt as she came down the stairs.  They were fifty feet away, and then thirty, then ten.  He was almost close enough to take her hand and then a wall of navy blue was in between them, talking about rights to Chloe’s story.  A pitch, he realized.  A movie or TV show or series of comic books.  They’d been trying for years despite Donna’s lack of interest.  

Dean stepped around the man and caught Donna’s eye - she looked exasperated but not threatened, so he hung back while Donna turned him down.  The man pushed for a little while but eventually gave it up for lost, just in time for a blonde girl who had to have been in her teens to step in and ask for Donna’s autograph.  She just had to know where Donna got her ideas for monsters and how she knew the ways to kill them.  This looked like it was going to take a while.  He offered an understanding smile and moved back into the crowd, looking for the kid handing out champagne.  

Drink in hand, Dean wandered around the house and made small talk as appropriate.  The guy who’d come between him and Donna earlier tried his luck with Dean once, just to see if he could convince her to change her mind.  Not happening. Luckily he took the hint and wandered off.  

He never strayed far from Donna, desperate to keep her where he could see her.  She was aware of his attention, maybe even enjoying it.  She jutted a hip while talking to another author and dropped a pen once just so she could bend over to pick it up - right in front of him, where his eyes could map every inch of her chest as her dress pushed it up.   She stood with a knowing smirk and he cleared his throat, straightening his jacket before wandering off to somewhere safer.  If he stayed where he could reach out and touch her they might get into more trouble than they bargained for.

The noise of the party faded behind him as he walked up the stairs and back through the hallway Donna had come from.  He admired the artwork on the walls and looked at the family photos; the majority of them were Gabriel with what looked like his brothers, all dark haired men with similar smiles.  Dean set down his empty glass and hit the head, happy for the moment of peace to collect himself.  He checked himself out in the mirror as he washed his hands, surprised to see himself looking fairly normal.  He expected a slack-jawed animal in heat to be staring back at him.

He left the bathroom and ventured on.  Found an office and a few spare bedrooms.  A sitting room, it looked like, with its piano and giant TV.  At the very end of the hall he found a library, sprawling and modern with leather couches and a back wall comprised entirely of windows.  Moonlight met with pulsing neon from the city below to filter through the glass, turning the spines of the books around him into a kaleidoscope of competing colors.  A desk sat in the middle of the floor, papers strewn across the top.  More importantly, there was a leather chair in the corner with a familiar pile of belongings stuffed into it.  

He’d recognize those cotton candy pink leggings anywhere.

This was where Donna had gotten ready.  This was where she’d zipped herself into that lethal dress and plotted torturing him with words until he collapsed at her feet, harder than steel and hungry for her.  

“Come here often?” 

Dean turned to see Donna in the doorway, teasing smile on her face.  Her jewelry sparkled in the moonlight and the inky leather of her dress shone.  Goddamn.  She watched him like she knew what he was thinking, hip leaning against the doorframe and her arms crossed over her chest.  For the first time ever, nothing was between them.  Not time or distance or executives wanting a word.  Not an obsessive fear of rejection that kept his mouth closed and his hands to himself.

Alone together.

Fucking finally.  

He covered the distance between them in three steps, wrapping an arm around her waist to haul her against him while his other hand buried itself in her hair and brought her mouth up to his.  Kissing Donna was a revelation.  She tasted like champagne and sugar; sunshine and temptation on his tongue, affection warring with wicked impulse as he kicked the door shut behind them and reached around blindly to lock it.  He caged her against the nearest wall he could find, pressing himself against her roughly so she could feel the fruits of her effort - his cock, hard and throbbing against the cradle of her hips.  Donna groaned, the sound low and wanton and heavy with arousal.

“I told you,” he gasped against her mouth, “I told you you were mine the next time I saw you.”

Her head tilted back, helped by his hand grasping the knot of hair at the nape her neck. It allowed him to bury his face against the curve where her neck met her collarbone.  When she answered he could hear the smile in her voice, even if he couldn’t see it.  

“Is this hell or high water?”

“Hell,” he answered, sinking his teeth into her earlobe and delighting in her shocked moan, “It’s been hell.”

Dean dragged his lips over every inch of skin he could find, rewarded first by the taste of her and then by the sounds she made while he worked.  He laved his tongue over the slope of her breast.  Dug his fingers into her hips.  Murmured sweet, filthy nothings into the air between them until Donna had flushed from the tips of her ears to the pale skin of her chest as it disappeared into her dress.  He took in the heady scent of perfume at her pulse point as it jumped under his tongue.

Had he been in his right mind, he might have thought twice about feeling Donna up in a stranger’s home with a house full of people downstairs.  Tonight, though, it didn’t matter.  He was past caring.  Donna didn’t try and stop him, happy to hike up her skirt and wrap a long leg around his waist to entice him closer.  His eyes slammed shut, feeling her heat even through the fabric of his slacks.  If she didn’t mind, he sure as hell didn’t either.  

“I can’t sleep, can’t think,” he told her, caressing his palm over her bare thigh.  Her dark eyes watched him, eyes dilated in the low light. “I can’t work without your voice in my head, driving me crazy.  It’s torture and I can’t seem to get enough, even when it’s killing me.”

“Me too,” she confessed, “I’ll take you any way I can get you at this point, even if it’s just tonight.”

Her voice trembled with something other than arousal and he frowned.  She swallowed and her eyes flickered downward before moving back up to his.  He watched as she tried for a smile that fell flat, the confidence failing to reach her eyes. If he didn’t know any better he’d say she looked… nervous.  Nervous, maybe, that this was something different for him than it was for her. 

“I’ve wanted you for years,” he replied gruffly, the words leaden with all the untold longing. He could still feel it in his chest.  Even now, when she was wrapped up in his arms.  “Since the moment you stepped into my office with that killer smile and your first manuscript.  I'm going to want you five minutes from now and five hours from now.  Tomorrow and the day after and the day after that.”  

Donna gaped at him.

“This, me and you - this doesn’t end when we walk out that door, Donna,” he told her, “Not for me anyway, so if that’s not what you had in mind tell me now while I can still walk away.”

He wasn’t entirely sure he could but he would damn sure try if this wasn’t what Donna wanted.

“Don’t you dare,” she said, fisting both hands in his lapels to drag him closer.  She captured his lips with her own, a shiver rolling down her spine with the first taste.  “Don’t you dare walk away.  I don’t want that - I want more than just tonight.”

“Oh, thank God,” he breathed and kissed her like a drowning man drinking in his first gulp of air.  Desperate.  Greedy.  Selfishly holding her close and letting his callused hand dig into the muscle of her thigh. His lips slid to her jaw and he groaned, “Walking out that door might have killed me.”

“I wouldn’t have let you,” she laughed, wrapping her hand around his tie and tugging it just hard enough for him to feel the pressure around his neck.  His head buzzed and his cock gave a long, slow throb.  “I would have dragged you back in this room and tied you to the desk.”

“Next time,” he promised, pulling against the tightness at his neck to look her in the eye.  “Right now I’m going to take you up against this wall.  That okay with you?”

Donna gulped. “God, yes.”

Dean felt like the green flag had just waved in front of his face.  His engine roared, blood pounding in his ears.  He had her permission to hook his arm under the back of her knee.  Donna gave an enthusiastic cry when he hoisted her leg up and nudged her dress all the way up to expose… nothing.  Nothing but bare skin and slick curls the color of honey and twice as enticing.  He felt his head swim and his heart pound.

“Were you… you were like this all night?” he ground out and felt Donna’s grip on his tie tighten.

“Better believe it,” she answered with a wink.  “Didn’t think I’d want the extra barrier.”

He nodded wordlessly, incapable of intelligent thought while every drop of blood in his veins rushed south. Every time he hovered around her that night, brushed up against her in the crowd, she’d been stripped to skin beneath her dress.  At any point, had the occasion arose, he could have rucked up her skirt and slid home in an instant.   _ Fuck. _  She had no idea what that did to him, heating his blood and turning it to steam.  His hand sought her out and was greeted by the sensation of damp flesh saturated with heat.  He listened intently as her breath caught in her chest, releasing only as he trailed a single digit over her. 

“Christ, Donna,” he marveled. 

She arched her back off the wall and presented herself to him, urging him without words to touch and take what he wanted.  He wasn't strong enough for this.  Not when her taste was in his mouth and precum had saturated the fabric of his boxers.  It would be too easy for him to lose himself, especially with Donna handing over the reins and telling him to giddyup.  If he didn’t create some distance this would be over before it started.   

“Texting me did this?” he asked, adding another finger to trace along her slit.  She nodded, keeping her eyes on his.  “Huh.  I wish I’d known.”

She huffed a laugh.  “Known what?”

“That you were seconds from coming with nothing but a fantasy to keep you company,” he replied easily, his voice sounding surprisingly calm and even.  “Did you rely on your fingers to take the edge off or did you decide to wait for mine?”

A deep blush stained her cheeks but she didn’t answer.  Dean paused his ministrations, forcing a whimper from her lips.  

“Well?”

Her hips canted up, trying to steal pressure where he’d withdrawn it.  

“I waited,” she answered, “I waited for you.”

He could tell - she was wet beyond his wildest dreams.  Responsive to a fault as she gave a soft cry and dropped his tie to grab at his shoulders.  The very tip of his finger grazed her clit and found it swollen and hard, hypersensitive to his softest touch.  That hint of pressure made her arch into him for more even as he noticed her wince.  It was painful.  She was way too amped up for direct stimulation, he realized with a frown.  There was no way in hell he was going to hurt her so he left that cluster of nerves to sink deeper into her folds.  

“Don’t worry,” he assured her, pressing his fingers into her heat.  “I’ve got you.”

Donna’s hips fell open and he kept her leg in his arm, cradling it against his bicep as his other hand worked her open.  The tightness he found shocked him.  Donna stayed oblivious with her eyes scrunched close, breathing heavily against his ear.  He pushed further into her, his knees nearly giving out as her body clutched at his fingers.  A flutter worked its way through her, telling him that she was closer to the edge than he’d realized a moment ago but he had to keep himself in line.  She came first.  He was going to take her the rest of the way before he sought his own pleasure.

“Those texts drove me crazy,” he admitted, pumping his long fingers into her with a lazy slide against the back wall of her sex. “Everything you’ve sent me for months has driven me crazy.  I can’t open my laptop without getting hard.  I can’t read anything you’ve ever wrote without jerking off.  When you described Chloe giving head in the tent I had to stop reading so I could come, thinking about your mouth on me.”

“Me -  _ oh, God _ \- me too,” she said, fighting to draw a full breath.  Her chest heaved.  “All of that, I mean Dan, it was you.  It was always about you.”

“Did you want your mouth on me, Donna?” 

“Yes.”

“Did you write about it because you wanted to suck me off?”

“Yes!”

He picked up the pace, rewarding her honesty with sensation.  Flourishing under the pressure of his intrusion, the truth poured out of her in waves.  How she made Dan to get his attention, to give her an outlet for wanting him.  A vehicle for every filthy fantasy she’d ever entertained about him.  

Dean allowed his eyes to sink away from her face to look at the picture she made, breasts bound in black leather with her skirt rucked up around her waist.  He watched his fingers disappear into her over and over, shining with her fluids.  Suddenly desperate to see more of her but unwilling to give up either of his hands, he tilted his face forward to taste the warm metal of the zipper that ran down the front of her dress.  He tucked his chin until the zipper crawled down, releasing one metallic tooth at a time until her perfume clouded his nose and the heavy wealth of her breasts sprang free.  

_ Fucking perfect _ , he decided as he pressed a nipple against his lips.  Donna jumped, looking down to see him laving at her.  A stray thought of Chloe’s popped into his mind and he bared his teeth, making sure Donna could see every second of him sinking them into the swell of her breast.  The barest edge of his canines scraped at that pale skin and she gave a stuttered cry, unable to take her eyes off his mouth as he moved to the other side.  This one got a harder bite and Donna’s walls shivered around his fingers.

“I’ve had wet dreams that weren’t as good as this dress,” he rasped against her nipple.  She was ready, at the precipice and waiting.  He observed closely as she surrendered herself to what was coming, eyes sinking closed again.  Her skin flushed and his fingers curled inside her, at last finding that expanse of soft tissue that made her beg for him.  He growled, “Maybe after I’ve come inside you I’ll clean you up with all this lace.  I can watch you wear it around for the rest of the night.”

“ _ Oh God. _ ”

“Is that a yes?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” she gasped, nodding enthusiastically and grinding herself down.  The heel of his hand met her clit and she jolted, crying out.  

“Are you going to come for me, Donna?” he whispered in her ear.  Goosebumps erupted over her chest.  He pulled a pink nipple into his mouth, drawing on it until it jutted obscenely and glistened.  She nodded wordlessly, already too far gone to keep participating in the conversation.  He moved faster, dragging over those sensitive ridges harder, keeping his rhythm mercilessly steady until Donna was clamping down on his fingers and a surge of wetness had spilled onto his palm.  She gasped and heaved, murmuring his name in frantic whispers that made his head swim.  It was a long couple of seconds before he felt her relax and suck in a deep breath, letting it out with a shudder that racked her entire body.

His control was a rubber band pulled impossibly tight and with her orgasm it finally snapped.  Worship would come later, when he had her in his bed and all the time in the world.  Then he would discover every slope and valley with his hands and lips and tongue.  He would take the time and devote her to memory, but now her body was a treasure he desperately needed to claim.  

Dean let her leg fall back down so he could pop the button on his pants and grasp at his zipper, swearing as his unbearably hard cock sprang free.  He shoved his pants down to the middle of his thighs and then he had his hands on Donna’s ass, lifting her up to straddle his waist.  He let the wall take her weight as he pulled her dress up and out of the way, guiding himself into her molten heat with an ecstatic cry.  Donna’s head dropped back to hit the wall, her hands resting on the back of his neck.   _ Too much _ , he thought as his chest worked like a bellows.  He was already too close for his liking.  

He paused.

She noticed. 

“Who told you to stop?” she accused, pulling his hair until he looked up at her.  The sensation made his eyes close and his cock pulse.

“You’re playing with fire here, sweetheart,” he growled in warning, groaning when she rolled her hips over him.  The motion stirred him inside her, giving fullness and friction without movement.  He watched helplessly as a bead of sweat slipped lazily between her breasts.  She pulled his hair again, spurring him on.  The nerves there lit up, bright and begging for more.  Dean looked up to find a taunting smile on her face, bottom lip pulled between her teeth.

She whispered, “What if I want to burn?”

Then he’d burn with her.

Dean thrusted up with a forceful grunt, slamming her lower back into the wall that held her up.  A cry punched itself out of her chest, a shocked exclamation of his name into the still air of the library.  She was tighter than a vice.  Wet from the orgasm he’d given her, the proof of her release evident as it ran down the inside of her thigh.  His would add to it soon enough, and probably before he was ready.  She was too tight and too perfect and he’d wanted her for far too long to make this last all night.  

_ Time _ , he told himself.  He would have time.  

Pictures clattered to the floor on either side of them as he fucked her into the wall.  Every glide into her body brought him closer to oblivion, closer to bliss that was still just out of reach.  Donna’s hands stayed in his hair, unwilling to let go as she bounced on him.  His attempts at seductive banter had fallen to the wayside, now relying on wanton groans and the sound of skin slapping to tell her what he needed to say.  She seemed to understand perfectly - she was taking him for all he was worth, her walls tightening around him and promising better things to come.

When she came again her back bowed off of the wall, neck arching as her nails dug into his scalp and tugged at his hair.  Her body clutched at him, hard and hot and slick with her orgasm.  She took her release from him, commanding it from his pulsing shaft deep inside her and demanding his along with it.  His vision blurred at the edges, tunneling until all he could see was Donna.  Her furrowed brow, mouth ajar in a silent scream.  Pink nipples, still slick from his mouth.  He watched her shake and gasp for air, watched her lips form the shape of his name, and then he exploded.

His muscles pulled taut to the point of sweet agony and he greeted the onslaught with relish, hips jerking fiercely as he shot into her.  He spilled until there was nothing left of him, thrusted deep until pearls of thick white seed had gathered at her entrance and started to slip down her thighs.  Dean had ceased to exist, lost in the woman who had stolen every sentient thought as well as his pounding heart.

It felt like years before the world settled back into place, bringing with it awareness and the painful burn of tired muscles.  Donna had recovered first, running her fingers gently through the short hairs at the nape of his neck and sighing.  She murmured sweet praise into the air between them, telling him how perfect he was.  How he made her feel, and how much she still wanted him.  It warmed him from the inside out, even as the aftershocks faded.

“Hold tight,” he told her and she did, clutching his shoulders as he pulled her away from the wall and carried her to the leather couch a few feet away.  He collapsed on one end of it, keeping Donna in his lap as he slipped from her.  A low hum escaped her lips, as though she already mourned the loss of him from her body.

Meeting her eyes, he reached for the edge of her skirt and lifted it so that the material on the inside was what caught his semen as he cleaned himself up.   Even the delicate lace was too much for his used flesh, scraping over raw nerve endings.  Next she let him swirl the fabric over the apex of her thighs, collecting the fluid dripping from her center before he settled the skirt back into place and pulled his pants up.  Her eyes watched every second of it, pupils dilating and cataloging his every move.  When he was done he pulled her back down to him, letting her rest her head on the pounding beat in his chest.

“Holy Moses,” she marveled and he chuckled.

“Yeah,” he sighed, “No kidding.”

“I was supposed to sneak back out of here again,” she said, her voice muffled against his shirt, “But now I can’t move or think or talk.”

Dean grinned.  “Pretty sure you can talk.”

“No, I can’t.  All my words are gone.”

“Then the rest of your book is going to be a real challenge.”

“Nah,” she said, picking her head up to look at him.  “There’s only the ending left and that’s going to be easy as pie.  Dan is going to show up at Chloe’s sister’s wedding and the two of them are going to sneak off to a back room.  I’ll just write from experience.  From very,  _ very  _ good experience.”

He laughed.  “Does that mean you’re not going to kill Dan off?”

“Nope,” she said, shaking her head.  “I mean, Chloe’s got some big stuff coming.  Maybe even an apocalypse.  I think she needs a partner for that - a real one.  What do you think?”

“Yeah,” he said, a smile slowly forming.  “Yeah, I think so.”

“You up for that?” she asked.

He nodded and pulled her in for a kiss.  

“Hell yes.”


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happily ever after, Dean and Donna style.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all for following me on this one. It's been a lot of fun. Your feedback has really been very encouraging and I think I'm settling in for a long career of Dean x Donna. <3

**VII**

  
  


_ Epilogue _

  
  


Donna bit her lip, doing her best to avoid chewing on her fingernail.  It was a new manicure and the nice lady at the salon had worked hard on it, spending extra time to get the flowers on the tips just right.  She was left with tapping her feet to expend her nervous energy, her high heels digging into her toes as she moved.  These things always turned into such a circus.  Donna thought she should be able to get up there, say a few words, then leave.  

No one else thought so, apparently.  

A crowd had formed close to an hour ago, waiting for the main event.  Her only comfort was that Dean was out there too.  She went against her better judgment and peeked around the corner, finding him instantly.  He’d spiffed himself up, in his nice suit and everything, the pale grey bringing the green of his eyes roaring to life. They shone out from his face like a lighthouse in the storm, guiding her toward the safety of home.  

Being with him was something she’d never considered possible.  Dean was perfect.  Kind and courteous and smart with a sense of humor drier than the Sahara.  She didn’t begrudge herself having a crush on him from the second they’d met because, good gravy.  Look at the man.  But men like that didn’t look at Donna the Divorcee so she stayed quiet, beaming at him with all the unrequited love she possessed every time they were in the same room.  It was an accident of pure frustration that Dean found his way into her writing - suddenly wanting him had become less of a preoccupation and more of a plague, spreading to every aspect of her life.

That being said, it was hard to argue with the results.

Gripped by a feeling so lovely it was almost painful, she lunged for her bag a few feet away.  Her phone was in her hand in an instant, unlocked and navigated to her texts.  Her thumbs moved swiftly over the keyboard faster than she could read what she was writing.  It was all pouring out of her, forced by nerves and the champagne she'd had a few minutes before. 

 

_ Donna paced, unsettled.  Her dress was tight and her feet ached like the dickens but that wasn’t even what was foremost on her mind.  She looked at the mass of people gathering a few feet away and her stomach felt funny.  There were a whole lotta people out there and she wanted to go stand in front of them about as much as she wanted to do a fan dance with a stick of gum.   _

 

She peeked around the corner again, finding Dean.  He jolted in surprise, probably from the vibration of his phone to alert him to her message.  For a second he looked worried, although it was totally unnecessary.  His phone was in his breast pocket and he tried to take it out inconspicuously but failed.  He saw her message and looked confused before a slight grin tilted the corner of his mouth up.  He typed for a second and her phone vibrated.  

 

**_Is now really the best time for this?_ **

 

Donna scoffed.  She was in charge here, buddy.

 

_ Dean was gorgeous in that grey suit, looking like a model in the golden light of the dying sun.  As if he wasn’t stunning enough on his own, the jerk.  The strong line of his jaw made her mouth water, already imagining running her lips along it when this was over.  She would smell his aftershave and taste the salt of his skin while her hands wandered, moving to push the jacket off his broad shoulders. _

 

She peeked again.  Dean read the message and shifted from side to side, unconsciously looking around to see if someone could read over his shoulder before replying.  

 

**_You're killing me here, sweetheart._ **

 

She giggled to herself, keeping her hand over her mouth to mute the sound. 

 

_ How in the holy heck did she get here, Donna wondered to herself.  A few years ago she was a very lonely, very divorced sheriff.  Now she was working at a dream job writing daydreams for a living and that gorgeous hunk of man was waiting for her to get over her stage fright already. Wanting to see her.  Was he thinking about undressing her?  Oh, almost definitely.  It was probably already consuming his every thought and he hadn't even seen her dress yet. Or what was under it.  _

 

Donna watched his eyes jerk up, looking for her and finding nothing. She continued with her narrative. 

 

_ But he'd find out eventually.  Definitely before the end of the night and possibly in an empty room before then if he got lucky and she got away from all the people demanding her attention.  Still, knowing what would happen even that far into her future made her silly with joy. Looking at him and basking in satisfaction, she couldn't remember ever being happier.    _

 

Dean smirked and typed back,  **_So get out here already.  I look like an asshole playing on my phone._ **

 

Donna snorted and put her phone away, smoothing her dress out.  Took a deep breath for courage, tasting the evening air.  

It was now or never, and never was unacceptable.  

The music started, heralding her entrance.  

Donna clutched her bouquet to her chest, the smell of the bright daisies drifting into her nose. She squared her shoulders before stepping around the corner and reaching the start of the makeshift aisle in her mother’s garden. Dean's eyes fell on her instantly, widening as they took her her in.  Her hair hung loose, a few tendrils braided back from her face, her dress strapless and made of intricate lace just a shade off of ivory. It brought out the gold in her skin and the deep brown of her eyes.  Her gorgeous hunk of man appreciated all of it, apparently.  He looked like he was considering coming down the aisle after her.  She would consider letting him but her poor Gram would probably die of shock.

She walked forward with her head high and her eyes on Dean, the guests on either side of her fading to the background until it was just him.  Just the two of them, her groom making all kinds of promises with his eyes that were better off staying between them.  She had a few to make too, hers written on a card in Jody’s pocket.  Promises to hold and to keep, to love and cherish.  Promises to love him above all others, even when things got rough.  

Donna couldn’t wait.

Barely a second passed before she was next to him, handing her bouquet off to Jody and turning to take his hands.

“You looked worried for a second there,” she teased under her breath as the preacher started his sermon.  “Afraid I’d jilted ya?”

“Pfft.  No.”  He cleared his throat.  “Maybe for a second.”

She grinned.

“Don’t worry, handsome,” she breathed and winked.  “Wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

  
  


The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I've written 2 1/2 chapters on my next fic. It's probably going to be a long one - like, novel-length. It's another AU with Marine Sniper/Cop!Dean turned bodyguard for Donna. Sex and danger. Kiss kiss, bang bang. You in?


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